When the Bullet Hits the Bone
by Master Sayaka
Summary: After a disastrous deal with Death, a blast of energy transports Dean to an alternate universe where the Twilight Saga is real. Now he must fight against monsters both new and old in order to find out what happened to Sam and Bobby. But when love bites, will Dean succumb?
1. Dining with Death

It all started one late February evening when Death showed up at Bobby's doorstep with bacon dogs. And I mean _the_ Death—face like a vulture, hair slicked back, reeking of god-awful funeral home potpourri goodness. Imagine your grandpa, constipated, dressed like a mortician, lecturing you on the finer points of existential philosophy while riding through the neighborhood picking off poor bastards with a sickle. That's who I was dealing with.

"Dean," he beckoned, "join me."

I sidled up to the dining room table where he was already munching crap food in the twilight. The term "scared shitless" just doesn't seem to do that moment justice. It was as if every dump I'd ever taken spurted out all at once.

"Brought you one," Vulture-face offered a greasy wad of nasty, "from a little stand in Los Angeles known for their bacon dogs."

Take it...or?

"Sit," Death demanded.

"Wow, what's with you and cheap food?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Vulture-face mused. "Thought I'd have a treat before I put the ring back on."

I pulled the damned thing from my pocket and stared, knowing I'd failed. Failed my brother, Sammy. Failed myself. Death gave me the ring about a year and a half earlier to crack open the deepest recesses of Hell, trap Lucifer and Michael, and stop Armageddon. But the showdown cost my brother his salvation. And when Sam belched up from the fiery pit without a soul, I tried everything I could to restore him, including making and breaking my current wager with Death: wear his ring for 24 hours.

"Heavier than it looks, isn't it?" Vulture-face lectured. "Sometimes you just want the thing off. But you know that."

Of course. Refuse to reap a cancer stricken twelve-year-old girl, and her nurse heads home early and dies in a car accident. Peachy. I'd sure gained _bookoodles _of newfound respect for the whole "grand design" of the universe bullshit. Being "Death for a day"—the whole thing was a dry Wurstfest from the get-go.

"Look," I chinked the ring on the table, "I think you know that I flunked. So there."

Vulture-face took a long swig of cola and gazed past me.

"Oh, and by the way, I uh...I sucked being you. I screwed up the whole natural order thing but I'm sure you know about that too."

"So, if you could go back, would you simply kill the little girl? No fuss, no stomping your feet?"

I'd learned my lesson. Maybe not the one Death intended, but close enough. God's not so much a mean kid with a magnifying glass who enjoys flaming fire ants. No, he prefers setting up elaborate Rube-Goldberg-style domino rallies and leaving them to fall however they will. Try to stop 'em and they just get worse.

"Knowing what I know now," I sighed, "yeah."

"I'm surprised to hear that. Surprised and glad."

"Yeah, well don't get excited. I woulda saved the nurse, okay? That's it."

"I think it's a little more than that."

_Really Chuckles?_ I thought. _At least now I know you can't read minds._

"Today you got a hard look behind the curtain," he chided. "Wrecking the natural order is not quite such fun when you have to mop up the mess, is it? This is hard for you Dean. You throw away your life because you've come to assume it'll bounce right back into your lap."

Vulture-face leaned in for the kill. Or so I thought. Then, he surprised me.

"The human soul is not a rubber ball," Death wagged a finger. "It's vulnerable, impermanent, but stronger than you know. And more valuable than you can imagine."

I swallowed. Confusion. Silence.

"So," he began again, "I think you've learned something today."

Vulture-face chugged more cola. What a bloated gasbag of a jackass. I couldn't restrain myself. Death was going to kill me someday anyway, so I figured, why not backtalk? Tell him to go to Hell, more or less.

"You wanna know what I think? I think you knew that I wouldn't last a day."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I lost. Fine. But at least have the balls to admit that it was rigged from the jump!"

Death glared. "Most people speak to me with more respect," he hissed.

"I didn't mean—"

"We're done here."

Pretty much. My ass was about to be on a midnight train going anywhere. Sassing Vulture-face hadn't been nearly as satisfying a fate as I'd hoped.

"It's been lovely," he stood. "Now, I'm going to go to Hell to get your brother's soul."

Okay? Not the reason I wanted him to go there but—wait, what did he say? I _lost_ the bet. Never getting Sam's soul back was the price. Death was still gonna go get it? Absolutely impossible. Strings were attached to this Pinocchio.

My eyes popped. "Why would you do that for me?"

"I wouldn't do it for you," he spat. "You and your brother keep coming back. You're an affront to the balance of the universe and you cause disruption on a global scale."

The shakes seized my spine. "I, I, apologize for that."

"But you have use. Right now you're digging at something, intrepid detective. I want you to keep digging, Dean."

Digging? I'd always hunted monsters. And after the big archangelic prize fight got rained out, that's what I returned to. Everything from sirens to shape-shifters to vampires and yes, even zombies. But what else was new? I could name nearly three dozen folks who worked the same gig in the continental United States alone. Sure our job was secretive and your regular Joe the Plumber had no idea how many freak restaurants he was on the menu for. But why should Death care if a few teabags got dripped? Wasn't untimely and horrific demise his job?

I sputtered, "So, are you just going to be cryptic or—"

"It's about the souls. You'll understand when you need to."

Okay then. He was going to be cryptic.

Death snatched his ring and slid it on.

"Wait," I pleaded. "With Sam. Is this wall thing really gonna work?"

"I call it 75%."

As part of our original deal, Vulture-face had agreed to put a barrier in Sammy's mind once his soul was back inside to block out all the ugly Hell memories and keep him from going paralyzed, mewling demonic pudding on us. Or maybe Freddy Krueger. But soulless Robo-Sam was already two shakes past _A Nightmare on Elm Street _and well into _The Shining. _So letting him be wasn't an option. Problem was, nobody—maybe not even God—knew how our little stunt would play out. I mean, It's not every day you zing someone's soul from Hell and cram it down their gullet.

And as it turns out, there's a damn good reason why.


	2. Queasy, Uneasy Feeling

"Bobby!" I huffed down the basement stairs.

His head shot up. Wide blue eyes and a beard emerged from the shadow of a worn baseball cap. He'd been reclined against a wall, dozing away the long hours of his shift watching over Robo-Sam. We'd chained my brother to a cot inside a reinforced steel and iron panic room with a ventilation grill protected by high-voltage grating. Sammy's no-soul shell had tried to gank Bobby in an act of fratricide—Bobby was the closest thing we had left to a father—hoping the stain of such a sin might prevent the return of his soul.

Sure, putting the glow back in Sam's smile might kill him dead. Or what remained of him. But the soulless dick rotting on that cot wasn't my brother, so quite frankly, I didn't give a damn.

"Open the door." I panted.

"What happened?"

"Now!"

The old man hopped to in a flash of camo-sweater and blue jeans. The giant door creaked open, revealing a chamber you'd more likely expect to find on a submarine than beneath a retired mechanic's junkyard.

"Get away from me!" thrashed Robo-Sam.

Death had already swooped to his side. All I could do was stand with Bobby, watching the horror flick unfold and trying not to piss my undies too badly.

"No don't," Robo-Sam pleaded, "don't!"

Vulture-face perched on the edge of the cot and pried open an antique doctor's bag—you know, the kind that looks like a cross between a suitcase and a purse. Pure, white light blazed like a miniature sun.

One thing's for sure. Seeing a soul raw is pretty awe-inspiring.

"Now Sam," Death cooed, "I'm going to put up a barrier inside your mind."

"Don't you touch me!"

"It might feel a little...itchy."

Soulless Sam gazed toward me with pleading eyes. Sayonara, douche-bag. Time to get my brother back. Sammy's coming home.

"Do me a favor Sam," Vulture-face reached into his bag, "don't scratch the wall." He paused. "Because trust me, you're not gonna like what happens."

"Please," Robo-Sam begged, "don't do this!"

The soul pulsated in Death's hand.

"No! You don't know! You don't know what'll happen to me! Dean! Please!"

Vulture-face pressed the light down on Robo-Sam's chest.

"No, no, no!"

Then came the sound of peeling flesh. And the scream. My knees buckled. I gripped the wall. My eyes burned. Louder and louder. _God_, the pain in that holler. My brother's pain. Vomit stung at my tongue. I swallowed. Bobby's hand was on my back.

I don't remember much after that. All I can say is, something went wrong. I think I saw a shadow streak across the wall, which was odd considering all the light. I can't be sure. Death got that classic deer-in-the-headlights look. He must've seen it too. A fierce wind picked up and thrust me down hard. I don't know where Bobby went. It was complete and total whiteout, like in a blizzard. Cold too. I wouldn't've been able to spot horse-shit on my eyelids. My screams spiraled into a piercing, ringing noise, then subsided. I was falling, even though I was on the ground.

That was one freaky-ass feeling.


	3. Poor Lost Babe in the Woods

Next thing I knew, I was puking belly-down on a patch of moist goo. Wait, not goo. Mud? And grass? And ferns? I heaved myself up to get a better look. Daylight? Maybe. It was cloudy and misty and the sun wasn't out. Apparently, I must've been away-from-keyboard for awhile, because I was in a dense primeval pine forest—the kind you'd find in Oregon, not Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where Bobby and I'd been camped. I suspected a knock-and-drag.

"Hello?"

Hey, it's the standard whiskey-tango-foxtrot-where-the-hell-am-I birdcall. And what a surprise. No response. Just chirping, twittering, and gnats. A field mouse scurried past. I remember thinking, _God I hope the varmint didn't poop on me while I was gone-fishing._ That's when I saw the barrel glimmer—the Colt revolver in all its beauty, nestled in the bosom of a fern.

"What the hell?"

You see, I'd lost the gun trying to off Lucifer pointblank "dodge this" Matrix-style during our first date. Only yeah, he dodged it. Or rather, he took it full force and chuckled. In the chaos of switching my ass into high gear and running, I'd dropped the goods in more ways than one. And that the Colt would suddenly reappear now? Under these circumstances? Way beyond creepy. I never refuse a free gun though. So, I snagged it. Now the Colt's no ordinary revolver. It was made by Samuel Colt himself, way back in 1835 when Halley's Comet was overhead. The very same night those men died at the Alamo. It can kill pretty much anything—well, besides Satan or God or something like that. And you gotta aim right, but hey, that's still pretty damn good. And it was loaded with five, shiny rounds.

I swabbed dried barf off my jacket as best I could with some ferns. The minty fresh smell helped disguise the charming fragrance of flu. My cell phone was gone and I didn't know what else to do, so I started bushwhacking a path west. You can tell direction by moss on the trees. It's burliest on the north side. But bark thickness is a better indicator. It's a trick I picked up from Dad. Wilderness expeditions and monster hunts come as a package deal. Soon I could hear a babbling brook, like in one of those cheap-ass relaxation CDs.

Wait. What the hell was I doing? Why not just call Cas?

Castiel was our wingman. Help from on high. An angel who'd gone rogue to fight alongside us and stop Armageddon. Word on the street was he got the boss position upstairs after Michael's defrocking. Of course, Raphael didn't like that and now there was some big civil war. I knew less about it than the surface of Mars. Cas kept his pie-hole shut most days. I guess 'cause it was painful. I understood. Or so I thought. He'd been like a brother to me since the day he'd gripped me tight and raised me up from perdition. His words. Paraphrased.

Yeah, about the perdition. It's a long story. I made a deal with a demon to bring my brother back from the dead and uh, it didn't pan out so well. That was several years before Sammy's current bout with H.E. double-hockey-stickitis. Really, the pit had become a second home for us. You know, me, Sam, and Bobby. If you want the whole weepy soap opera, I'm sure someone else can tell you. But I'm only gonna bring up what I need to when I need to. They weren't the golden years.

Anyway, we hadn't been in touch with Cas for awhile. He didn't exactly dig the Death plan. Or restoring Sammy's soul by any other means. "Why don't you just be a man and kill your brother outright?" he'd said. In retrospect, maybe so. Hell memories can dust your fluffer.

But then again, it's not like Cas is Mr. Clean either. More on that later.

Getting back to the story, I clasped my hands and did the "I do believe in fairies, I do believe in fairies" shindig—you know, praying.

"O Castiel, who art probably royally pissed off at me. I sorta went through on the deal with Death. I don't know where I am, I'm wet, and I ickied my jacket. Get your ass down here and you can tell me 'I told you so' and laugh as much as you want...but uh, I guess you don't laugh so much and...okay, I'm shutting up."

I cracked an eyelid. Nada.

"Damn it."

Either I was getting the cold wing or worse—something happened to Cas. Or he was simply busy. War's a bitch. He'd come when it counted. I had faith. And it wasn't like I was in mortal danger.

A twig snapped.

Well, I wasn't in mortal danger _yet._

A shadow whooshed past. The one from Bobby's place? Motion in the branches. Click. Clack. I backed against a tree trunk. My grip tightened on the Colt. Running is typically a bad idea when you can't see your enemy. Cautiously, I trod toward where the disturbance was headed. West. Past the brook.

A clearing was coming up. Really odd. Circular. I got real close to the edge but pressed against another tree. The ferns below two vine maples on the other side shook. Something was coming out. I girded my loins. Whatever the hell _that_ means.

Slowly, the beast emerged.

A teenage girl with a grey pullover-hoodie? Cute too. But definitely jailbait. She toyed with a few strands of long, dark almond-colored hair. A nervous twitch? I knew instantly she was stressed about something. The way she cradled her chest told all.

This was _not_ a stray hiker. More like a mourner visiting a grave.

I stood my ground.

She closed her eyes and fell to her knees, making this creepy gaspy-groany noise. Her face contorted like she was passing a kidney-stone. I almost full-throttled out to assist her. She looked sicker than Sammy after the Rattler at Six Flags. But then I heard feet crunch a few dozen paces away. Firm, steady. Purposeful.

Best to keep the element of surprise.

The footsteps paused. I heard a snort. Animal? Yeah, I don't think so. The critter was bipedal. Gettin' close to rumble time. I adjusted my grip on the gun.

Snorty moved for the clearing. Gosh, he'd certainly been eating his Wheaties. The muscles rippling gracefully on those carved, olive-toned shoulders—okay, that was _really_ gay. Suffice it to say he was a very pretty, shirtless Jamaican man with leafy dreadlocks. Look, you'd have to have _been_ there. It was majestic elk beauty, not Chippendale's.

Snorty entered the clearing and froze.

"Laurent!" squealed the girl. She giggled a bit.

Secret lovers' rendezvous? Laurent? Why did that name sound so familiar? I smirked and shifted for a better view. Damn, maybe I was wrong about this whole situation. Usually you have to pay fifty bucks to see porn this good. I glanced over the trembly girl and then at the lucky bachelor and—

What the fudging holy hell was wrong with his eyes? Black, like a demon, but with faint rosy-red rings. I gulped and assumed combat stance again. This was about to get stinky or really, really kinky.

"Bella?" he gasped.

_Oh son of a bitch! _

I grimaced. Were the vamps seriously still hauling their creep-ass recruitment camps along, building an army? How did girls fall for this _crap_? I mean really? Anne Rice and Stephanie Meyer? It's not even good writing. It's not even good grammar for Christ's sake. This girl was what, seventeen? _Eleven_ I could understand. _Maybe_. But whatever. I had to hand it to the fangs though. Preying on hot emo-chicks with self-image problems seemed to be a winning strategy. Of course, this could just be roleplaying. But I _never_ get that lucky. I decided to wait it out and see.

"You remember me!" Trembly-girl smiled at Laurent.

Snorty grinned. "I didn't expect to see you here."

_Yeah. Sure you didn't, Champ._

He strolled toward her.

"Isn't it the other way around?" The girl stood. "I do live here. I thought you'd gone to Alaska?"

"You're right. I did go to Alaska. Still, I didn't expect... When I found the Cullen place empty, I thought they'd moved on."

_Yep. Vamp recruitment officer. Cullens! Ha!_

"Oh." Trembly-girl bit her lip. She looked wounded by something he'd said.

Silence. Laurent moved forward.

The girl mewled, "They did move on."

"Hmm," Snorty grumbled. "I'm surprised they left you behind. Weren't you sort of a pet of theirs?"

Trembly-girl smiled. "Something like that."

"Hmm."

The propeller on Laurent's thinking cap was spinning fast as a jet. You could almost _feel_ the breeze. I wasn't scared though. This guy was alone. And besides, vamps are overrated. Sure, they're quick and strong and hard to kill. But they aren't undead and they _certainly_ aren't demigods. Yeah, sunlight hurts their eyes, they can take quite a stabbing, and they _are _nocturnal_. _So, I can see how some of the myths got started. However, _real_ vamps eat (well, drink), whizz, sleep, and bleed like everybody else. Some even go to church, vote, tithe, and do the animal thing rather than people. Immortality is true though—well, until a hunter wastes you. Decapitation drops'em fine. A drunk guy with a shotgun and razor-wire could take an unprepared one down easy. I'd seen it done. And I had the Colt on me.

"Do they visit often?" Laurent ventured.

I assumed he meant the, cough cough, _Cullens_.

Trembly-girl's face twitched like a grand mal seizer was coming on.

"Now and again," she peeped. "The time seems longer to me uh, I imagine. You know how they uh, get, um, distracted."

"Hmm. The house smelled like it had been vacant for a while..."

She perked up. "I'll have to mention to Carlisle that you stopped by. He'll be sorry they missed your visit." She put a finger to her chin. "But I probably shouldn't mention it to...Edward, I suppose—"

Edward? _Damn_ they had her miracle-whipped.

Trembly-girl struggled to continue. "—he has such a temper." Her lips quivered. A tear trickled. "Well, I'm sure you remember. He's still touchy about the whole James thing."

She rolled her eyes and waved a hand. Trembly-girl was trying so hard for nonchalant it physically _hurt_ to watch. Even more than a back-to-back showing of _An Inconvenient Truth _and _UFO Files_...

"Is he really?" Snorty flashed a toothy grin.

"Mmhmm."

Laurent glanced around. I scrunched up against the tree. He didn't see me, but it was a close one. I tried to breathe shallowly, hoping my heartbeat would be cloaked by birdsong or some nearby deer. As for the barf smell that'd been stinking up my jacket, I'd smeared so much fern I doubted he'd notice.

Laurent advanced for the girl. Not time yet, but almost. I was gonna have a little _fun_ before he died. And I needed him as _far_ from a retreat as possible.

"So how are things working out in Denali?" Trembly-girl small-talked. "Carlisle said you were staying with Tanya?"

He paused. "I like Tanya very much. And her sister Irina even more... I've never stayed in one place for so long before, and I enjoy the advantages, the novelty of it. But, the restrictions are difficult... I'm surprised that any of them can keep it up for long."

Laurent smirked, "Sometimes, I cheat."

Aha! A recruitment officer lusting for the thrill of the kill. Like the good old days back before fangs were reduced to ransacking blood-banks. Recently, they'd been keeping a low profile to bulk up their nests and dodge nasty questions from local law enforcement.

_Get a little closer, you bloodsucking bastard._

"Oh," squeaked the girl. "Jasper has problems with that, too."

"Really?" Snorty cocked an eyebrow. "Is that why they left?"

"No. Jasper is more careful at home."

"Yes," Laurent agreed. "I am too."

He stepped forward again.

_Come on! Twist that ankle a bit more!_

I needed him in a position where sprinting wouldn't be an option.

The girl was petrified. "Did Victoria ever find you?"

"Yes," Snorty hesitated. "I actually came here as a favor to her. She won't be happy about this."

Victoria. Must be the ringleader. Nest head. Mother hen. Whatever you call it. But I knew that wasn't her real name. The vamps were obviously, pathetically, _literally _posing as _Twilight_ characters. Hadn't seen 'em _that_ desperate before. My Meyer's knowledge was decent. I'd never touched the books, but Sammy'd dragged me to the first movie. I made it halfway through before I bailed for the commode and tried to flush myself. Must've been at least three years ago. Jesus Christ that boy had a heart. Well, back when he _had_ a heart. Never seen a 220 lb., 6'4", 25 year-old man cry so damn much. Poor Sammy. I cried too, but for other reasons. See, I've been to Hell, and...we'll just leave it at that.

Laurent glared in my direction.

_Shit! Did he spot me? _

No, but almost.

"Victoria won't be happy?" Trembly-girl sounded hysterical. "She, she won't be happy about what?"

He turned back to her and purred. "About me killing you."

Well, if I was waiting for intent, the bus had arrived. Time to hustle ass off the platform. This dick deserved to be taken down with indignity.

"Talk about authenticity!" I strolled out laughing and clapping.

The girl jumped. Laurent's mouth fell.

"Holy crap!" I jeered. "Are you wearing glitter _and_ powder? Where'd you get the contacts? Party Pig?"

Snorty gaped, "How the _hell_ did you get here?"

"Good question." I aimed and clicked the gun. "But I'm driving. Nice dreadlocks by the way. They smell like piss."

"You smell lovely yourself," he chuckled.

"Indigestion," I snapped. "You're about to have it worse, pal."

He belly-laughed at me. _Unbelievable._

I side-stepped and cracked my neck. Actually, I was checking around for any surprises. His confidence didn't seem like a bluff. Trembly-girl dropped to the ground all squirmy. She was mouthing something like, _Run away_. Sweetheart, if things get ugly, we'll get to that part _soon_ enough. Trust me.

Laurent composed himself. "Do you know what I am?"

"A steaming hunk of bloodsucking douche-bag? Mosquito with an attitude?"

He seemed stunned. "You actually _do_ know what I am?"

"Hey," I winked, "you said it. I merely _proposed_."

Anger flashed in his eyes. "Clearly, you don't know enough, little boy."

"Just cause you're older than Betty White don't make me Justin Bieber."

Oh, that _really_ set him off. Neato.

He growled, "You arrogant clown! I could break every, single, fragile bone in your frail, delicate body with the tiniest flick of my wrist! That gun is a crude toy. It will not save you!"

Poor ignorant sap. I thought I'd drill for oil before torching the well.

"So," I paced, "this is what you do, huh? Girl doesn't match your criteria, and you make a Slurpie of her? Or maybe you're just out for some rec action?" I shook my head and cackled. "Word is, you all got an R.O.T.C. program of sorts. Tell me, where's Victoria and her wonder boys?"

He looked confused. Surprised. Suddenly scared. "What's it to you?"

"Got a bullet with the bitch's name on it! Thought it'd be nice to give her a present that really touches the heart."

He snarled.

"You gonna tell me or not? Only reason you're still breathing."

No response. Just bared teeth.

"Okay then." I'd find her myself. Time to gank him. "Are you Jamaican?"

He laughed. Nervous. "What? No, I'm Haitian."

"You sure? Cause Jamaican me crazy." I grinned ear to ear.

He snapped and lunged. The girl screamed. Shit. The bastard was a lot quicker than I reckoned he'd be. No worries. I'd given myself plenty of elbow room.

"Suck it, leech!"

Blam!

A bullet slugged into his chest, stopping him cold. He gawked at the wound—a scorched, perfect pentagram sparking with electric energy. Red lightning rocked his body. He wailed as the skin around the wound cracked and turned white. It was like he was freezing over. All motion ceased. A perfect ice sculpture. I thunked his head. The corpse toppled, shattering. _Freaky_. Never seen one die like _that_ before. They're supposed to kill over like humans, you know, except the blood is a tad thicker and gooey.

"You okay?" I reached for the girl.

"What did you _do_ to him?" she cupped her mouth.

"Yeah. Gonna need a broom and a dust pan, eh?"

She forced a grin. "Thank you. So, so much."

I nodded and fished for one of the larger pieces of the corpse. It was hard, smooth, granite-like. I'd learned on the job that victims are sometimes shake-and-baked. So I didn't know if she was legit or a trap, but I needed to start building her trust even before I could give mine.

"You got a rock collection?" I offered.

She nodded slowly.

"Want me to hold on to it for you?"

"Yes. Kinda. Does that sound weird?"

_Sure does._

"No," I chuckled. "Not at all!"

She clasped a hand to her chest and came forward. "Who... who are you?"

"Name's Dean Winchester," I extended a hand. Unbeknownst to her, there was an iron nail between my pointer and index finger. Common monster litmus test.

She shook my hand firmly and without pain. "Isabella Swan."

Well, not a monster. But definitely a basket-case of nut-bars. She sure _looked_ the part at least. It'd be worse if she was big and fat with red hair and a snaggletooth.

"That's such a _lovely_ name!"

_Scheisse! Hope I didn't sound too sarcastic._

She eyed me odd. "What's wrong with my name?"

"Nothing, nothing, it's just uh—"

"What the _hell_ are you? You just killed a vampire! Don't you _dare _touch me!"

Yeah. I'd been waiting for the freakout.

"Easy, easy," I put up my hands. "My brother and I, we're hunters. We're good at our work. We gank creepy-crawlies and help folks like you. Look, whatever the fangs told you, it ain't true. They've been sweepin' the country picking up girls your age with sappy romance gags. I'm just doing my best to stop'em and clean up the trail of broken hearts and bodies."

She sobbed and latched onto me. "Is that why Edward's gone?"

Assault and battery by excessive hugging followed.

"Um," I patted her back, "yeah. Sometimes they do that. They'll turn the ones they want, move on, and leave the others as chow for their friends to jerk-off later."

"It's not true!" she shrieked and beat my chest. "You're a liar! A liar!"

Bella—for lack of a better name—sank down.

"It's _so_ true," she gasped in a voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes went distant. "The house, the family, the—"

"All a show."

I knelt and gripped the poor girl's shoulders tight. "I need you to be strong, listen, and stay with me, okay?"

She nodded. A tear wobbled on her chin.

"Now," I continued, "I'm gonna ask some hard questions. You're safe, so you can tell me anything. Absolutely anything. You understand?"

She nodded again.

"Were there any others?"

"Um, vampires? Yes, there was Carlisle and Esme, Alice and Jasper, and Rosalie and Emmett. Laurent was from another coven. James' coven. James is dead. Actually, I dunno. That might have been a trick. Victoria was with him. She's alive."

I knew the basic plot line. I didn't need it rehashed. The girl was even more damaged than I suspected. And I suspected monster-truck derby carnage.

"Okay. Were there any others like you?"

"No. I don't think so. Or at least, they didn't let me see them."

"Where'd Edward go?"

"I don't know. The rest of the Cullens left before him. He took me out into the forest, told me he didn't love me and—" Her voice broke.

"And?"

"And left."

"When was that?"

"Back in September. September fifteenth. Two days after my birthday."

Five months ago? Odd. That's all I could think. Why not drink her then and there? Too sweet? Were brunettes gamey? There was something to this story I wasn't getting. But it'd have to wait till we got someplace less Hansel-and-Gretelly.

I helped Bella up. "Hey uh, can you walk?"

"I think so."

I scratched my chin. "You got a cell phone by any chance?"

"No," she sniffled. "I'm technologically impaired."

She was trying to joke. Very good sign!

I wrapped my free arm around her shoulder. "You know the way to the main road from here?"

"Uh huh." She unwrinkled a map scrawled with an impressive grid pattern. "I was following this line today. So we're about here and the road is...northwest. I've got a compass too. You look pretty grizzled sir."

"You're worried about _me_?" I winked.

"Well, kinda about me too. I'm not good at keeping myself safe."

_Tell me about it._

I fished in my pocket.

_Oh thank God!_

I whipped out my fake FBI badge. "Feel better?"

"A lot," she sighed. "The government's involved in this?"

"When's the government _not_ involved?"

She grinned. "So hunters are, like special agents? And your brother's one too? Where is he right now?"

"Missing in action," I mumbled, "as usual."

Maybe I could buy the lie too, if I washed it down with enough whiskey later. I went ahead and let Bella rock the map and compass. You gotta help folks maintain a feeling of control. Or else, well, try to fight holding a dank, stiff log, because that's what they'll mighty-morph into once the heat comes on. Bella struggled to orient us before we set off into the woods.

"Do you specialize in vampires?" she asked.

"Excuse me?"

"You talked as if there's more stuff out there. You were really good with the vampire though. It's...like you were inside his head."

Eh, what the hell? Why not give her a small dose of truth? She seemed to dig fanged men anyway. This hand might play to my advantage.

"It's 'cause they turned me. A few months back."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah," I explained, "but it was only for—"

Snarls from the trees. A giant, black wolf crashed through the underbrush. Big as a horse. Mad as a prodded cow. It stopped about twenty feet away, pawed the ground, and glowered. Spit glistened on its pearly whites. Dog men—skinwalkers, we call 'em. And these fellas were pumped on steroids. I don't know who screamed more like a girl—Bella, or me. She burrowed into my leg.

"Try the other one," I whispered. "That one might be a little warm."

Yeah. Real men pee themselves, okay?

A gray and a brown beast slinked out to join the first. Then, there were five, lined up in a V shape. If it's not geese flying south, that's a _very_ bad shape for creatures to be in. I figured I might get two shots off before they made Kibbles'n Bits of us. Running was out. Bluffing was just plain stupid—but stupid is as stupid does.

I aimed the Colt and hugged the girl. "You put one scratch on little gray riding hood and I swear to God, I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your ass away!"

The brown wolf glanced at the black one—the alpha, I assumed. Their stance relaxed. One by one, they left—the brown one last. He kept glancing back over his haunches at me. His brow furrowed as he trotted along.

"Holy crap," I swallowed. "What the hell is this? Dracula versus wolf-man?"

"We gotta run!" Bella tugged.

No disagreement there, sweetheart. She fumbled the compass and map. I ripped 'em from her hands, slung 'em to the mud, and snatched her up. Screw giving her a sense of control! I'd take the dank, stiff log!

"Which way are we going?" she squealed.

"Away!"


	4. Welcome to the Hotel North of California

"But you're not a vampire!"

I jerked Bella along as fast I could without tearing her arm outta socket.

"Yeah," I panted. "Not anymore."

"But how?" she pestered.

I glanced around again. No sign of a big, bad wolf or any more little piggies.

"Not the time or place for this." I huffed.

She locked her feet.

"No!" Bella demanded. "Tell me!"

"Fine." I stared her down. "As long as you don't feed, and you've got some deadman's blood, some other weird crap, and blood of the fang who turned you, you can drink it and get better. Can we go now?"

"Get better? Wait, blood? Vampires don't have—"

"Yeah, actually, they do. Venom is scented hand-sanitizer, okay? Smells like roses, stings like a son of a gun on an open wound."

"Oh." Her nose twittered around. "It's not good being a vampire, is it?"

I was at a loss for words. Well, for a few seconds anyway.

"No Bella. It's not good. It's like having a migraine in Grand Central Station while crapping Alka-Seltzer. And hot girls make your mouth water for all the wrong reasons."

Her lips quivered. I guess I'm not exactly Mr. Sensitivity, but I had to act fast or else she'd freeze on the blue-screen-of-death.

"Son of a bitch! Here it comes."

It worked. She squealed and tore tread. Now she was dragging _me_. It wasn't five minutes later that we bowled out onto a road. And sweet Jesus above, there was a bunged-up red pickup truck not ten feet away, just waiting to be hot-wired.

"My truck." Bella pointed.

Even better.

She hopped in the driver's seat. I shook my head. She got the message, tossed the keys, and took shotgun. I cranked the old beauty to life and eased on out. Had to be gentle driving her though. I didn't need the skewed glance from Bella to know that. Passenger-side door was rattly, among other things.

"Which way to town?"

"Left."

I reached down for the radio to get an idea of where I was at from the stations. But the thing was gone. Ripped clean out.

"What happened to the—"

"He took it away."

I slammed the wheel. "What a freaking douche-bag!"

Bella twiddled her fingers. "I know."

Dang. She was detoxing from vamp-camp fast. Good. We roughed the clunky'iddy'clunk of the engine for about ten minutes. It was getting on toward dusk and I was glad we wouldn't be out driving much longer. Dark forests, sick stomachs, panicky teens, vampires, and skinwalkers—it ain't exactly ingredients for Martha Stewart country-style living. Of course, it depends on whether you're asking _before_ or _after_ prison.

"Alright." Bella leaned forward. "Forks Avenue starts right around the corner and—"

I slammed the breaks. My arm shot out and saved Bella from the dash.

"Are _you_ trying to kill me now?" she shrieked.

"Nah, you got that pretty much covered."

I wheeled the truck around.

_Dear Lord what kinda trouble has this girl found? Forks? Ha. Whole damn mock-up vamp town I bet. __Population: Minus One. You. _

This was big. This was _huge_. I needed to get to a pay phone and call in backup. Rufus probably. I heard he'd been tracking a wendigo in California. No way I was going down to funky town alone.

Bella's head whipped around. "Where are we going? It's getting dark...Dad's gonna be worried sick! Take me home!"

_Come on Dean, pull a bunny from the magic ass hat._

"And lead monsters to your family? Not a chance. Just thought about it and figured we're being tracked. Best head a few towns over and stock up for the night. Get some reinforcements, you know?"

She opened her mouth but I cut her off. "Don't worry. I'm FBI. I'll smooth out the wrinkles on your parents' brows later."

"Oh." Bella relaxed. "Oh. You're _good_."

We headed north through wispy fog on U.S. 101 for a long time, then east. The road was lonely. Just a trailing black Subaru motorcycle manned by some full-helmeted skinny guy, dressed all in black with a black visor. Fool must've had a death-wish. Signs saying _Port Angeles, so-and-so many miles_ didn't escape my notice. It seemed, after all, we really _were_ in Washington. Maybe Forks actually _was_ behind us? They'd started _Twilight_ tours and other regrettable tweenage lately. I wondered, what if _real_ vamps got to 'em? Took over the business? Steady food supply, good front operation...this'd be a tough case. And what if the fangs were behind what had happened at Bobby's? Death saw some serious shit back there. It scared him. Scared him to, well, death.

I shuddered.

"Are you cold too?" Bella's teeth were chattering. I hadn't noticed.

"Uh yeah, come to think of it. Heater work on this thing?"

She reached out and cranked a knob. "I wasn't sure if you wanted it. So I left it alone. The locals don't mind the chill much."

"That's very thoughtful of you to catch pneumonia for me on a monster hunt."

She giggled. "Yes. It was silly. I'm sorry."

"You not from around here?"

"No." She shifted. "I mean, I was born here in 87. But I grew up in Phoenix."

"Arizona?"

"I'm not aware of any other except maybe a ho-dunk town in Texas."

She was keeping to the _Twilight_ schtick. But her spunk was endearing. I had a good feeling the gal would make it through this nightmare alright. I smiled at Bella. She smiled back.

Szhwam!

The black motorcycle screeched past at breakneck speed.

"Damn it!" I swerved and hammered the horn. "Fine! Freaking kill yourself! What the _hell_ do I care!"

"What does he think he's doing?" Bella made a fist. "Flying a jet?"

_Wow. She continues to surprise..._

Soon the lights of Port Angeles came into view and U.S. 101 turned into West Lauridsen Boulevard. The town was modest. About the same size as the ones where I usually clock in most of my dungeon-crawling. I guided Bella's pickup into an empty space at the All View Motel and opened the rattly truck door for her, which fell off. I assumed I'd tugged a little too hard for the old beauty to handle.

"Great," I mumbled and tossed the door in the truck-bed.

"Wait," Bella tensed. "Aren't you afraid someone's just gonna climb in and steal—"

The truck slouched to the side with a crunch. I smirked.

Bella sighed. "... Yeah, I guess you're right."

I held her shoulder all the way to the main office of the teal-colored cabins. I almost gagged when we passed the black Subaru motorcycle. The urge to key it was overwhelming.

Inside, the joint looked clean. Immaculate. Not what I'd expected, _at all_. Family owned and operated, explained a placard. I glanced at the clock. 10:30 PM. Ahead of us, a fat, pleasant-faced clerk-woman was busy talking to the skinny motorcycle guy—I woulda clocked the asshat, but Bella was there, so, set a good example for the kiddo and all.

Motor-cycle guy chucked over a wad of cash.

"That's a lot of money." The clerk's fingers strummed a worn, Harlequin romance novel. "How long are you staying?"

"I'm not sure," came a smooth, mezzo-soprano voice. "Just keep whatever you feel comfortable with once I check out."

Motorcycle-guy was a chick? As if to answer my thought, she unlatched her helmet and cradled it like a football. Her hair was long, pale blonde, and straight as corn silk. And she turned to face me.

Now, I don't wanna sound all sappy and sentimental about love at first sight bullshit, but holy crap! I forgot how to breathe. Her eyes were sapphire and beautiful, sparkly, and big. And the skin on her heart-shaped face was flawless. Absolutely flawless. She smiled at me and waved, then pushed through the door. She looked about 20. Fourteen years my junior.

I always _did _like my gals a little bit younger...

"She's pretty," Bella whispered.

My hands were sweating. "No shit."

The woman at the counter coughed. "Can I help you?"

"Uh yeah." I slipped my right boot off and fished out a wad of cash from beneath the sole. "Two beds. One night please."

The lady scrunched her nose.

"We travel light," Bella grinned.

The clerk rolled her eyes. "I'll bet."

Had to hand it to crazy Bella girl. She'd caught on to the gig quick.

The room we got was cozy and welcoming. White walls, green carpet. Even a little kitchenette. I bounced on a bed corner. No broken springs. I was gonna sleep like a baby tonight. Bella scanned over the boob-tube menu. I pulled my backup address book from the sole of my other boot to see what sort of contacts I could scrounge.

_Time to find out what the hell's going on._


	5. Twilight Zone

"Beep. Beep. Beep. We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel—"

"Son of a bitch!" Click.

Bella was wrapped up in blankets. She glanced away from her cartoons.

"Still no luck?" she prodded.

"Yeah," I grunted. "Phone lines must be down or something."

"Hmm. There's a big snowstorm in the midwest. If that's where you're calling, it may be the problem."

That _was_ where I was calling. Except I'd been there less than half a day ago and things were clear as a whistle—wait, maybe not. How long had I been on holiday from the knock-and-drag?

"What's the date?"

Bella frowned. "February 28th." She glanced at the clock. "Nope. March 1st now."

That sounded about right.

"Can we check the news? I wanna know the weather."

"Sure." Bella slinked her arm out and snagged the remote.

"CNN live report," announced a bobble-head blonde. "Air Force One has touched down safely in Iraq, where President Bush will address American troops within the hour. Jim, give us the story."

My eyes dilated more than Octomom's cervix. Right date. _Wrong_ year. Unless, of course, Obama had changed his name and caught the clap from Michael Jackson. But it looked as if I'd been Doctor-Who'd back to 2006! And then, it hit me. I'm not sure _why_ I remembered such a crappy, insignificant footnote in American history, except for the fact that Sammy'd yammered my ears off about it all the way from El Paso to Tucson, but I did. Bella was acting out scenes from _New Moon_ when I'd found her. And that book wouldn't be out till September. But that, along with all the other stuff, meant...

_Oh. Holy. Crap._

"You okay?" Bella asked—the _real _Bella, Isabella freaking Swan!

"Uh," I swallowed.

"Can you turn on the AC?" Bella got out of bed and stretched. "I've had problems regulating my temperature ever since James bit me. My bottom's cold and my top's hot. I mean, I guess it must be psychological, since the venom was hand-sanitizer. But I can't help it. _And_ I'm babbling. Sorry."

"Uh huh," I nodded. "Yeah."

_Keep it together Dean! Keep it together! _

I shambled for the AC unit. It was like walking through the spinny-barrel at _Ripley's Believe It or Not_. And I believed it alright. What had enough mojo to rip the multiverse a new one and flush you down the cosmic crapper? One word: angels. Cas? Nah, he'd never do this. Gabriel? Probably, but Lucifer had Louisiana deep-fried his ass once it smooched up next to ours. Who the _Heaven_ was it?

Suddenly, Motorcycle-gal was back on my mind. She looked a lot more sinister in hindsight. First there was the trailing. Then speeding ahead once she knew our destination. And she'd stopped at the very first motel, like she was anticipating I would too. I couldn't help but think I'd been profiled. Why didn't I catch it? On a scale of one to bad? _Very_ bad. Hairs prickled as I rashed out in goose-pimples.

"Hey Bella?" My back was to her. "Can I ask you a question?"

No response.

"Bella?"

Again, silence.

I gulped. "Motorcycle-gal's right behind me, isn't she? She's got a hand over your mouth and a weapon drawn."

"The name's Kate." The icy nozzle of a gun jabbed my neck. "Mind telling me about that revolver of yours?"


End file.
